


The Academy Was...

by Volrosso



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., Umbrella Academy
Genre: Bandom Big Bang 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volrosso/pseuds/Volrosso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>00.01: Appreciably enhanced sense of foresight. Excels at everything he tries, particularly the arts and leadership. Mildly aloof. My favourite.<br/>00.02: A spoiled brat. Shows admirable knowledge of his power of hypnosis- as illustrated by the constant trouble his siblings get into.<br/>00.03: Insufferable, narcissistic creature, but incredibly useful. Made it rain in the study, notes are soaked and illegible.<br/>00.04: Development of psychic abilities stunted by fretful, morbid temperament. Inexplicable resemblance to a girl I knew once.<br/>00.05: Disappeared several days ago. No great loss.<br/>00.06: Gruesome but fascinating. Easily manipulated due to naive nature.<br/>00.07: No discernible talents. Some enthusiasm for music, but mediocre skill- can hardly work his way through a proper riff. Utterly useless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Academy Was...

**Author's Note:**

> I'll have to post the art after oh dear.

**(Mix by fisa-is-your-friend[X](http://fisa-is-your-friend.dreamwidth.org/1384.html))**

**(Art by truthismusic[X](http://truthismusic.dreamwidth.org/2415.html))**

 

 

 

 

In all honesty, William Beckett's childhood could be summarized in one day.

The weather was nice for a change. It had been raining on and off for about a week now, and all the plants were looking especially vibrant, which usually found William slaving away in the garden at the front of the ivy-covered mansion they all called home. It was mostly red and white roses, speckled with little crystal droplets of water that made them glitter slightly and look twice as pretty when the sun found them. There was an abundance of snails in the garden too, which William picked off lovingly and set along the fence just outside the house.

He was all wet from falling on his way back to the fence, with a streak of mud staining the black pants and blazer of his uniform. William didn't even like flowers that much. Gardening was just something to do to take his mind off the stream of constant thoughts running through his head. He didn't mind the roses. Maybe he'd pick one today and leave it outside Pete's door? Pete had gotten irritated last time. Maybe not.

During the summer, when business picked up and they became much more busy, there was no time. Every nasty thing ever seemed to crawl out of the sewers and every other secluded in the entire city in the summer. They were hardly ever home, and usually exhausted wherever they were staying. Usually the flowers died. But it was a crisp, spring day in the middle of May, and William was feeling alright.

No bad news today. So far, at least.

Gabe was at the gate talking to the reporters swarmed there like he knew he wasn't supposed to. He loved breaking the rules. He lived for it, probably, which was weird. Maybe he knew he'd get some form of attention from Pete if he acted out, it was no secret among them that he was the most desperate for Pete's approval. They all were, in their own special way. Gabe always seemed to be the most up-front about it.

Whatever. William didn't fancy breaking the rules and joining in, and looked away when Gabe tossed his blazer aside and lifted up his messy white shirt to show someone the scars that cris-crossed over his stomach.

Brendon was in the drawing room playing the piano, and William didn't want to talk to Brendon. Brendon was loud and rowdy and broke things when he was mad. Like the vase two weeks ago. It had had William's flowers in it, they all got damaged and broken up. Oh well.

Frank has started a fire in the kitchen. But William didn't like Frank anyways. He was also too loud and rowdy, but with a sort of inner turmoil and outward air of chaos that Brendon didn't possess. Brendon was a reserved sort of hyper that was manageable. Frank's was dark and deep, he looked feral and wild and lashed out all too easily. Brendon's anger was calm until you set him off.

Ryan was in his room probably, like he usually was. He was too stand-offish, William didn't like him much either. He pouted if he didn't get his way, and he was too rash and rude. Maybe Patrick would be trying to talk to him, or trying to talk to the mechanical lock the way he usually did when he needed to be let in. It usually listened to him and allowed him access so he could go be verbally abused by Ryan some more.

Spencer might be around though, maybe William would go look for Spencer. Spencer was in the living room in front of the big T.V, watching the news. His face was illuminated by flickering light and grubby with soot, his too-big work gloves charred black and twitching with his fingers. His blazer and his shirt were gone, his pants torn and burned, but despite that he looked perfectly happy. He was entirely focused on the T.V though, and William saw that it was a clip from the fight they'd gone through yesterday playing.

A slightly beat up young girl was crowing about how cool they were (how cool William and Gabe were, that was to say), pan to some footage of the enormous mutant rat Brendon had finally fried with an impressive lightning bolt while William shouted every move the thing could possibly make and screamed at Gabe to listen to him instead of trying to get the rat to do as he said.

Spencer himself hardly ever actually made it into the news, it was usually just the William and Gabe show, as they were the most vocal about their work, and appeared to be doing the most. Brendon showed up a lot too, he was talkative enough, pretty enough.

Spencer was the damage, and he wasn't damaging in an aesthetically pleasing way, he didn't use lightning or fire or projections of his own mind, he burned things. And burning things without the brutal beauty of fire wasn't pretty, it was gruesome.

Sure, they could show something getting hit by lightning, or someone getting talked into shooting themselves in the head, but never someone melting flesh off the bone with only a touch. What William wouldn't give to have a power like Spencer's and not have to be in charge of everything. He was tired of calling the shots, it was always on him to not only speak for the group, but to take responsibility if something went wrong. Three civilian casualties this time around.

All on him. The irresponsibility of William Eugene Wentz. What a shame. He sat down next to Spencer, who gave him a smile before refocusing on the news.

"Number One's the cutest," a younger girl said happily. "I like his hair the best."

"Number Six creeps me out," the kid beside her said, and she tried her best not to look embarrassed by him as Spencer's smile faded a little bit. "His power's so... Brutal."

"I'm sure he's very nice though," the girl said, quickly ushering him away. Not two seconds later, Pete breezed into the room looking rather mad and switched the TV off. "It's bad for your ego," he said, and then he was gone with his big black coat swishing by his ankles before anyone could say a word to him. Business as usual, evidently. William seemed to be the only one who'd come to terms with the fact that their father wasn't their father, he was a scientist.

Pete had adopted them all so he could keep tabs on them and train them up to be heroes- not because he felt like he could love them and keep them as his own. That was Patrick's job. Somehow, Spencer looked even more disappointed. William decided maybe going back to the garden would be a god idea. He patted Spencer on the shoulder and tried his best to look optimistic.

"Rest up for tomorrow," he said. "Sewer alligators are going to attack people, probably." Somehow that didn't make Spencer feel better. But that was every single day of William Beckett's childhood, spent pretending he wasn't a hero when everyone thought he was. Unlike everyone else, he didn't want to be a hero. He wanted to be normal, but he understood his role and played it as flawlessly as he could.

Gabe stood outside, basking in the hollow attention he was getting from strangers who saw him as nothing more than some sort of thing to be revered because he could do something special. He made fun of his siblings, provoked everyone as a way of hiding how much he loathed himself, how much he still revered Pete over how much he hated him.

Brendon played the piano, trying to bring some sense of normalcy to the house even if it was raining everywhere but the single, solitary patch of sunlight just outside the window of the drawing room and the fact that he knew full well that none of them would ever be able to be normal. Even if they were pretending, there was no way.

Frank was up in his room with the family he'd constructed for himself entirely out of his own imagination, laughing and joking and having a better time than anyone else in the godforsaken house because, wow. He had people who loved him, even if they were totally made up. They were real enough.

Ryan walked around, bumping into things like a poltergeist, trying to get a rise from someone, anyone.

Spencer flicked the TV back on, because maybe someone would have noticed his contribution today, as they never did, or maybe he could watch lions killing antelope on the Discovery Channel or something. Maybe there was an X-Men marathon on so they could laugh at them some.

And Mikey was in his room, alone with his guitar and his cat.

Mikey was always in his room.

 

\---

 

William hated his room.

You couldn't even call it an apartment, it was literally just a room. A shitty broom closet of a room big enough for a bed and a fridge, half taken up by a water heater that never shut up. He'd had an apartment, so he knew what apartments looked like.

But the reporters found him there, and he hadn't been able to escape, which had just plunged him back to when he was at his worst. He had to get out. So here he was, in this room he hated. The owner of the building it belonged to was an elderly Vietnamese man who was very hard to understand and probably was charging way too much money for this place. But that didn't matter, William just wanted to be left alone.

It wasn't like he didn't have the money, and it wasn't like he had the option. Everyone was still after him, even more so now. The media was after him.

Everyone in the world wanted a little piece of him, they wanted to know what had happened on that day, and William didn't even want to think about it. They'd want to know if he spoke to any of his siblings anymore, how he felt about his dear father's passing.

He didn't.

He didn't feel anything.

He'd taught himself in the years he'd been living along to not feel anything for that old man. So far it was working. How the media would talk, if they saw how he was living now. They'd think he'd hit rock bottom when he was thoroughly convinced that this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then again, all good things must come to an end.

At exactly 12:00 in the morning three days after Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III passed away quietly in his sleep, William Beckett opened his front door tiredly and said "I know."

The bewildered looking man behind the door pushed the brim of his fedora out of his face, blinking and adjusting his glasses before his face broke out into a tired smile. "Of course you do."

William had seen the old man dying in his sleep, something that had taken away his own ability to sleep. God damn it. He'd never hated Andrew Hurley, and he was sure he'd be physically incapable of doing so, he just could do without the midnight interruptions. Andy had been a friend of his father's- of Pete's- for a very long time. He was vaguely mysterious and pretty menacing under the brim of his wide brimmed fedora that drooped low over his eyes. His voice alone dismantled his tough-guy appearance, too high to be menacing.

"You look well," Andy said curtly, and William knew that was formality. He looked like a train wreck, sleep-deprived with mangled hair and naught but low slung pajama pants that he hid behind the door to cover.

"You want me to come back right." Andy looked puzzled for a moment before William added "I know. For the funeral?" He ducked back into the room to get a shirt while Andy hung around the doorway. "How did you find me?"

"Middle man. Pack some-"

"I know," William sighed, going to find a bag to shove some clothes in. Somebody was going to fuck something up probably that they were going to have to fix, and he'd be there more than a day or two. Andy didn't know that, and probably was just taking precautions. William certainly had nothing to wear to a funeral. He was pretty sure half of these shirts were unwashed, but who was checking. If he was going to attend, he was going to attend as he was- someone who lost almost everything and hadn't bothered building his life back up from there. He was fine where he was, sure.

Andy waited patiently, probably knowing that William was dragging this out because of the dread welling inside him. He could handle being there, being back at the estate, but could he handle being around those people again? He packed as many pills as he could find, just in case. Some other stuff too that Andy didn't need to know about and would definitely disapprove of as a member of the police force.

"Take your time," Andy said twenty minutes later, when William had finally convinced himself to leave the house. "You don't have to rush into this again."

"I know," William said. 

 

\---

 

Gabe felt kind of underdressed when he got back home to the estate, but that was fine. Anything to spite that old fucker, right? He'd been pulled right off of the soccer field at practice, by a friend. _Hey, someone's looking for you,_ they'd said, and pointed him back to the changeroom. And the first thing he thought when he was whisked away by Andy-fucking-Hurley -who had not been in contact for years and years- was that maybe Pete would have been proud of him.

Y'know, if he saw how far his dumb kid had gone.

Then Gabe remembered he wasn't Pete's kid, even if they shared a last name. Never had been, was never treated like it, and just because he'd played soccer with Pete sometimes- had learned everything he knew from him- didn't make them close.

Gabe was upset, sure. He'd let himself be upset, as he'd let himself be upset after the Incident. But that's all that old man would get from Gabriel Saporta. Not a single tear- but a whole lot of regret and resentment, maybe a bit of sadness if he was lucky.

Gabe didn't want to be back here.

Firstly because of the police wrangling Frank Iero out of the back of their cruiser as he swore loudly and spat at their feet, giggling madly when one of them went pale and almost let go before his counterpart started yelling about it not being real. Gabe didn't like being reminded that most of his family wasn't exactly living in the lap of luxury like their billionaire sports star brother, and he didn't care. He was reminded why he didn't care now, and would continue to be reminded throughout the duration of his stay.

Frank didn't look like himself, or at least he didn't look the same way he had when Gabe had seen him last, after losing most control of his specters after the Incident. He looked like a wild dog with a high, crazy laugh and vicious eyes. He tried to bite a policeman when his hand got too close to his mouth.

So Frank couldn't deal with his own powers anymore, what a shame. He and Spencer and Ryan had always been like that, overemotional and needy and juvenile. The rest of them learned to adapt to their situation, but not them.

That was why Spencer was going through therapy three times a week after killing his boyfriend quite by accident and Ryan has been missing for seventeen years. It was why Frank was locked up in the madhouse, screaming at his imaginary friends twelve hours a day.

Mikey was like that too, but not crazy. Juvenile and needy on a whole different caliber. He ran out as soon as he was allowed, made a new family up from the ground.

Gabe might not have seen them often, but he always tried to keep tabs on them, at least. They were his family, even if he loathed them. He shouldered his bag and continued up the path, managing to look indifferent.

The place was virtually deserted when he walked in, only Andy standing, talking to Brendon in the foyer. Brendon's eyes kept slanting to the piano every so often. He looked at Gabe and frowned when he noticed him noticing, before refocusing on Andy again. Well, Brendon grew up to be rather attractive.

William probably did too, but Gabe obviously wouldn't see William until the service, when William would be forced to see him. William knew exactly where Gabe would be every single second of every single day, and he'd know exactly where to go to avoid him, if they were still on the terms they'd left on.

Brendon pulled Andy gently into the next room, laughing loudly at something he'd said. Gabe rolled his eyes and continued upstairs. Brendon was acting pretty bitchy, had been since Gabe had arrived. Maybe it was because Spencer wasn't around him to keep his temper under control. Maybe it was because Ryan wasn't around at all anymore. Perhaps a combination of both.

Brendon wasn't big and famous, he was an anchorman who never got the weather wrong, probably living a lie in white picket fence America with his wife and kids while he thought of everything he used to have. Fuck that, seriously. At least Gabe wasn't pretending he wasn't fucked up like Brendon was.

The upstairs was totally silent, save for the sound of a single simple bassline, but fuck if Gabe was gonna go see Mikey. He never saw Mikey when they were kids, and he had no interest in going to see him now. The only one who ever paid that deranged motherfucker any attention was Frank sometimes, and William when he saw Mikey doing something that could be hazardous to someone in the future. Maybe Brendon would go too, depending on the day. Brendon was such a sentimentalist back then.

When Gabe passed by the door, Mikey was sitting on his floor with the bass in his lap, hunched over it. Gabe remembered how lucky he was, looking at that poor fragile creature alone on the floor with his guitar. Gabe was fucked up, sure. But he wasn't _that_ fucked up.

He stopped in William's doorway next, because fuck, _what?_ William was sitting in the windowsill with his legs dangling out, which would have been fine if they weren't on the fucking fourth floor above a patch of messily overgrown rosebushes. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and didn't look back when Gabe walked in.

"You don't smoke," Gabe said carefully, and William laughed, but it was devoid of humour.

"And you don't fuck anything with a pulse."

"You jealous?"

"I'm contemplating jumping, you know." The cigarette fell out of his mouth and William watched it fall, sighing. His hands were shaking too badly anyways."I don't see it happening, but I've been wrong before."

"You'd know." Gabe studied his back- he could be a girl from the back. He was too skinny, frail, greasy brown hair to his shoulders. Still William, though. Undeniably William. "You always do."

"Are you going to stand there and pretend you didn't fuck me up," William said, and it was so nonchalant. He could be talking about anything. Gabe made a face and picked his bag up again. William smiled slightly, keeping one hand on the windowsill as he dug around in his back pocket for his cigarettes. "It's going to rain, you better go find your jacket since your appointed umbrella chauffeur is not present."

"Like you weren't used to luxury before you fell off the map," Gabe growled, storming off to his room. William laughed, sticking the cigarette back between his lips with shaking hands.

 

\---

 

As promised, it rained at the service, and William didn't say a single fucking word.

Patrick was talking when Gabe inevitably blew up. It wasn't surprising, because Gabe always did, and William knew he was going to. He warned Patrick about it, but Patrick's processor was outdated and his current memory card was nearly full up. Pete didn't have the chance to change it before he kicked the bucket, or try to create one with more memory on it. So Patrick looked alarmed when Gabe exploded, blue eyes wide and astonished.

"It would be nice if you shut the fuck up and let us bury him now." William knew Brendon's jaw was tightening, even if he couldn't see it happening, and he knew Patrick was recovering from the shock and he knew Spencer would get upset too if everyone kept screaming. He hadn't seen Spencer do anything, but he'd been wrong before with Spencer. He'd become so unpredictable in all that internalized grief. "You don't even have fucking emotions, how are you this torn up about it, you dumb machine?"

It was not fair to say that, William would give Patrick that. Patrick was the one who took care of them, god bless him, to the best of his ability. But a robot couldn't be expected to be there for seven children all at once. Especially kids like them, angry at the world and each lonelier than the rest with no outlet to get rid of their frustration but outright aggression. He did the best he could, apparently that wasn't good enough for Gabe. He'd always been mad though.

"Gabriel Eduardo Wentz," Brendon snapped, making Spencer jump and Frank burst out laughing, starting up an intense conversation with the empty space next to him about their ' _dumb fucking middle names'_. It was probably the Wentz that got Gabe right to the core, nobody had used that as his last name since he'd expressed his hatred for it years ago and unofficially changed it.

Brendon seemed unaware of how angry he'd made him. "Calm down."

"No, no I've had it. We're standing here and pretending we gave one flying fuck about this stupid excuse of a man and I honestly can't be bothered."

"You obviously gave a flying fuck about this stupid excuse of a man if you're lashing out like this," Brendon sneered back, and his hand was out of Spencer's and balled threateningly at his side. William knew Gabe would try to say something else and Brendon would punch him. He grabbed Patrick's arm and started walking away just as it happened and the sickening thud of flesh on flesh contact went off behind them.

Patrick flinched, making William feel a little bad, adjusting the big black umbrella over Patrick's head so he wouldn't get wet. Patrick was the best thing Pete ever did for them, and must be protected at all costs. William wasn't sure he could protect anyone today, wrecked as he was. He was cold and wet and numb, and he needed a smoke. Maybe he'd fix Gabe's nose up when this was all over, if Gabe promised to behave.

"I'm going to miss him," Patrick mumbled, looking back and flinching when a few drops of rain hit his head. William apologized quickly and readjusted the umbrella- god, his hands were shaking so badly. Mikey was already leaving, pulling his hood up after not saying a word to anyone, stalking away from the scene like he'd never even been there in the first place, and he may as well have not been.

Gabe was on his back in the mud with Brendon straddling him and raining punches on his face. A thundercloud was condensing over the two of them as Brendon's anger levels rose, the rain pelting down over the black clad party where William and Patrick were nearly out of it.

Chaos had erupted. William knew Frank was using his power now too, now that there was nobody to stop him, no drugs repressing it. William knew sooner or later Brendon would see something terrifying that would send him scrambling away, giving the upper hand to Gabe.

Then Gabe would rough Brendon up a bit and storm out, off to town to find a random girl who would sleep with him cause he was Gabriel-fucking-Saporta- a distasteful last name to choose, William had to admit. He stopped caring what Gabe was doing years ago when he realized the end really was the end.

It was the second only thing William had never seen coming.

"None of this is your fault, okay?" William felt lost. He was towering over Patrick- last time they'd seen each other, Patrick had been a head taller than him. And now he was towering over Patrick and Patrick looked small and lost, like the child William had been last time he was here. He didn't know what to do.

He patted Patrick's shoulder somewhat awkwardly, leading him back into the house and out of the rain, just in time to see Gabe storming away. As predicted.

William got flashes of the girl next, she'd be blonde with pretty hazel eyes and bright red lipstick, and she made William frown, but he wasn't wrong. William wasn't known for being wrong. Except when it mattered the most, apparently.

 

\---

 

Mikey wasn't entirely sure what he'd taken. Something strong, probably illegal. Maybe more than one thing. Maybe something illegal and everything else that had been offered to him, because he was a Wentz and they never backed down from a challenge. Though he'd changed his name, he was still a Wentz.

The people who came to his shows came to ask him if he'd ever found out his power in the end, and not because they thought his music was good. He was good though, at least somewhat. It was the only reason his bandmates kept him around, he could play and he was famous. They hated him, he was aware of it. But it was easy to ignore, he'd learned how.

The room was empty, so Mikey could go without having to send someone home like he usually had to, with half-hearted excuses and apologies. So that was good at least. He wasn't sure what had woken him up until the buzzer on his phone went off again, and he grumbled, rolling over and pulling his pillow over his head.

The room was a blur, the phone too loud. The buzzer didn't cease until Mikey sat up, battling the rush of blood that made him feel dizzy. He felt around the clattered side table for his glasses, knocking over at least two pill bottles in the process of finding them. He found his phone seconds later, buried somewhere in the sheets. God, it was like, 2:30 in the morning. They must have had no concept of time.

"'llo?" He rubbed at his eyes and sat up properly- a headache was already setting in, and he wasn't sure what was causing it. It probably didn't matter.

" _Good evening._ "

"S'not the evening." Mikey yawned hugely, irritation hindering his thoughts. He should hang up the fucking phone and go to bed. They had a show tomorrow and he was already going to feel like shit, his band mates would kill him if he was late on top of that. This voice wasn't even familiar in any way. Maybe it was one of those annoying reporters that forced him to change his number like, three times a month. "What's this about."

" _This is Michael James Wentz, correct?_ "

Fuck. Mikey ground his teeth and grated out a simple "This is Mikey Way, actually. Thank you for calling for whatever reason, but I'm terribly busy-"

" _We want to hear you play_." Whoever he was, the guy has dropped the formal voice. He sounded like someone who would play the villain in a bad Hollywood slasher film now. Mikey sat a little straighter, pushing his glasses back up his nose. Usually these calls were reporters, or people asking about the article he put out shortly after the Incident with a capital 'I', people asking if they were still looking for Ryan. They all wanted in, they all wanted a piece of him, and not who he was, but who he was supposed to be. " _Tomorrow, 12:00 on the dot at the Red Rose. Whichever instrument you see fit at the time_."

Well, the bass, duh. Mikey scratched his head, weighing out how likely it was that he was being set up. What the fuck ever. "I guess."

" _Excellent_." The line went dead, leaving no number and no ID. Mikey tossed his phone on the floor with any chance that he was going to sleep the rest of the night.

That was okay, he had pills for that too.

 

\---

 

He went to go find them, wrapped in a sweat soaked sheet from the bed. William was back sitting on the windowsill, and Gabe's face was busted, full of black and blue bruises and tape over his nose. He'd tried to stay away, William knew that. Gabe had never been able to. He was too weak, William had seen him sitting in his room, getting up and pacing and sitting back down again. He was anxious, he didn't know what to do with himself. It was laughable. William used to be like that. He'd built up an immunity.

"It's late, go to sleep."

"My dad's dead, I'm allowed to be sad." William wasn't sad, just unsettled. It was always so quiet here since he was back. Usually Ryan would be bumping around downstairs, probably with Spencer watching the TV. That was a long time ago, and Spencer hadn't left his room since the fight earlier. Brendon had stayed with him, how touching.

The real reason he couldn't sleep was because of the nightmares, and this sinking feeling like there was something he should know but couldn't quite reach, and William didn't like things he didn't know, because he always knew things. Always. He hadn't the faintest idea of what it could possibly be. Maybe he was getting older, maybe their powers would just fade away when they got older. That would be nice. Gabe didn't say anything, just sprawled himself out on William's bed without even asking.

Prick. William scowled, searching through his back pocket for his cigarettes. He felt like an angsty teenager all over again, he wasn't sure he liked it. He hadn't even indulged in such rebellion as a teenager, had just stumbled his way through adolescent life trying to save the world and self destructing after the Incident. It was just too weird being here again like this, but William only had to wait a week and he could go home. One day down, six to go.

"You shouldn't feel anything for that prick," Gabe said simply, and William rolled his eyes because the boyish defiance thing had been cute when they were younger, but Gabe was a bit too old for that now.

"You loved him too much," William said. Where the fuck was his lighter. He still wasn't used to having one on him, he hadn't been smoking for long. Only under stress. He'd been like a chimney lately, though. That should say something about the living conditions of the manor. "Story of your life."

"Mature."

"You're the one who beat your brother up at your dad's funeral." It was weird using the word brother for anyone, because William and Gabe had spent half their lives assuring each other that they weren't actually brothers, that what they were feeling was okay because they weren't blood related, that what they were doing couldn't be illegal because of it. Best not think of it now. His face went red. William gave up, running his hands through his hair anxiously. The thing he couldn't see was closer, closer than it had ever been, but he still couldn't reach it, like the thing was in a glass room with an irritating layer of dust on the inside. If he was too forceful in his search, it faded and he had to focus hard to try and find it again. "That just makes you an asshole."

"Everyone needs to punch Brendon in the face every once in a while."

"Not you."

"Bill, could you get down from there? I always feel like you're going to fall." Gabe sat up properly, and to his credit, he did manage to look moderately concerned. Also to his credit, he was a fabulous actor. William ignored him though, if he came down he'd go mad, he'd be pacing the floor and tugging at his hair and his head would probably explode. There was no way at all, no way. "Bill, seriously, come down from there."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," he snapped, and Gabe repeated the request twice, until his mental barrier broke down and he came down, sending the rose bushes one last longing look. Damn Gabe, damn his powers. He went and sat next to his brother, sighing miserably. Yeah, brother. They were brothers.

"I can put you to sleep if you want."

William kind of did want that, but not bad enough to get over his pride. "Get out of my room."

Gabe shrugged and left.

He never used to do that.

 

\---

 

The lights were bright and Mikey couldn't see who was in the audience, even when he shielded his eyes with a hand. That was unsettling. His guitar case was suddenly really heavy, and he himself felt heavy, kind of scared. He wasn't sure why. It had been a long time since he'd had to audition for anything, back when he was trying to get into a band and nobody wanted anything to do with a Wentz. He dropped his case and feigned bravery, like Gerard always said you should in these situations, crossing his arms over his chest. He was already hot in the lights, maybe it would get better. Nobody had asked him anything yet. It was silent. Someone in the audience coughed once.

"You can start." The voice from the phone. Someone stepped on the stage.

Mikey was confused. "Are you going to tell me what to play or what?" The man on the stage was the man on the phone, he was sure of it, a tall man in a conductor's uniform and a mask with a grin like a Cheshire cat. His eyes were prominent behind them though, almost glowing an icy blue. He was weird, Mikey wasn't sure he wanted to be here anymore. This seemed like something that would inevitable link back to his childhood or the Academy, and he really hated things that had anything to do with either of those things.

But he was all the way here already, Mikey might as well try. Something he wrote with Gerard a long time ago, back when they were on speaking terms and staying in the house. It could have been better, Mikey thought halfway through the performance.

The way he played was angry and aggressive and raw, but he wasn't feeling it. He was thinking about what he was supposed to say if they asked about the song. That he wrote it with his fucking talking cat who was pretty much his only friend in the world? Sure the world knew they were freaks, but they didn't know about the other freaks that lived with them. Or had. Before everything went to shit. The talking cat, the mothering android, the mysterious detective in the trench coat. A typical day in the Wentz Manor.

Mikey messed up a chord and sighed angrily, looking back up at the man in the mask. As usual, nothing. Mikey made a face and started packing up his bass again, grumbling about what a waste of time this all was before he finally spoke up. "You're talented," said the masked man, and Mikey scoffed. Nobody thought that. Nobody ever. Nobody but Gerard, a fucking oversized talking cat, that was not good for the self-esteem. His siblings had gone out and saved the city nearly every single day of their lives, and what had Mikey done? He could pick out half a tune on his bass if he could hold his concentration long enough. Hell, even post-Academy, Gabe had gone out and become a star while Mikey struggled by to try to keep himself from fucking dying. If this guy wanted talent he should find William or Brendon or Gabe.

"Thanks for your consideration." His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he bowed low at the waist, and the masked man laughed.

"What, we don't get an encore? I've got something I want to try." Another masked person came from offstage, holding a totally black bass, and it looked pretty fucking cool, but it wasn't Mikey's and he shook his head. The masked man put it in his free hand, however, taking his guitar case. There was something off now, Mikey could feel it. He couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"You're more talented than even you know," the masked man said, and brought Mikey back to the stool in the centre of the stage before sitting him down again. "And I think I know just how to access it. I want you to play the angriest song you have, and I want you to feel it this time."

And he did, by god, he did. He thought of every time he'd wanted to put his fist through Brendon's smug little smile, or strangle Gabe until his face turned blue. He thought of every time Pete ' _accidentally_ ' locked the door from the outside so Gerard couldn't get in to help him if he had nightmares, which he did. He thought of how scared he was when that happened, people with blood streaming from their noses and eyes and ears and mouths- anywhere the blood could leak out of them. He played until his fingers were bleeding, and then he stopped, and he had no idea what to do. The masked man was applauding him, the audience was going crazy. It was a lot bigger than he'd imagined it would be.

"I could use your help," the masked man said, and Mikey was confused.

He agreed anyways.

 

\---

 

William was up again at two-thirty in the morning, and very, very drunk, playing the scene out in his head over and over. He'd never had a vision so sketchy since the Incident, and he was afraid of those more than anything. There was a lot to be missed when the quality was like that, like it was filmed with a camera phone, the picture blurred and staticky. But unlike the Incident, that had been all around awful, only the picture was horrid while the sound was clear as a bell.

A table, William had made out, lots of bulky metal machines around it, whirring and beeping. It was dark, William could see a light above the table. No windows, no other sources of light until a door opened. Or, what probably was a door, the camera phone quality screen was not fixed on it so he couldn't see, and the sound of a struggle filled the air. Someone was grunting, pulling, shoes scuffing against the floor as they screamed, and William knew that scream, and though he couldn't see him clearly William knew it was Mikey being strapped down to the table. Mikey all in black, swearing and kicking and flailing until they'd got him secured, and he didn't stop fighting even then.

"Just relax," Someone said, their voice was calm and pleasant, and Mikey was yelling was muffled, though he was still trying to make noise. They'd slipped something into his mouth, a tube, maybe? He was gagging on it, and then he was mostly quiet, still straining at the bands holding him down.

William didn't see the electricity, rather he heard it, the crack of the shocks, and Mikey's muffled sobbing and begging. His glasses fell off at some point during the silence, cracking against the floor, and William wondered if they had stopped or what, the silence seemed to stretch on for decades until the picture went steadily clearer, and the masked men came back to untie Mikey from the bed.

His eyes snapped open.

There was blood everywhere.

And he sat up, looking right at William and smiled, and that was when William woke up and had to go digging through his side-table drawer for the bottle he kept in there for emergencies. Usually he'd go to Gabe for something like this. Or he would have. Back then when they were dumb kids in love. No point now.

Instead he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and stumbled out into the hall, bumping into the wall and nearly bringing down a very large portrait of Patrick with Pete as he shook hands with the Queen of bloody England, and William flipped them all off, muttering under his breath as he pressed on.

He nearly fell down the stairs. Twice. And he thought briefly about hitting the bottom, his head cracking open like an egg on the white marble floor. He wasn't sure if it was a vision or a thought, though, so he stopped and sat on the stairs until he'd assured himself he was just being paranoid.

The light was on in the kitchen, and Spencer was standing at the counter staring into space with a mug of hot something-or-other in his hand. It smelled good, whatever it was. William wanted some immediately. Spencer jumped when he came in, and set the mug down to pull on his work gloves before William laughed, waving his hand dismissively.

"'M'not gonna come near you. Even if I did, it would be nice."

"Don't talk like that," Spencer grumbled, and he put the gloves on anyways. William sighed, he hadn't talked to Spencer since he got here. He looked sad and tired, but he'd gotten cuter as he got older, like now he finally fit his face. It was cute. Like a puppy. It made William smile. No wonder Brendon liked him so much.

"Jesus Christ, William. What have you done to yourself?"

"Could same the say to you," William muttered, and Spencer almost laughed. Almost. He tugged absently at his work gloves again, as if he had to make sure they were one-hundred percent on his hands.

"I was just about to go back upstairs, do you want me to leave the light on?"

"Stay 'n' talk with me for awhile," William said, pouting out his bottom lip, and Spencer shook his head. He looked apologetic, at least. Maybe he didn't want the crazy catching. William did feel kind of crazy.

"Brendon's gonna wake up on his own if I'm not there. He gets kinda panicky." William knew that. He also knew Spencer probably wanted nothing to do with him, because acknowledging that he existed might confirm the fact that the Incident had happened. He was the only one still in denial, and William would respect that until he got irrationally angry and lost his temper. Which was not now. William sighed miserably and shuffled off into the next room where he could sit next to a deactivated Patrick and rot his brain with TV while the alcohol filtered through his system.

He actually forgot to turn the TV on for a while, and sat with the remote in his hand listening to Spencer hum quietly as he flicked off the light, called a soft goodnight and rushed up the stairs straight back to Brendon.

William caught an endearing little fleeting thought and knew that Spencer would try to close the door quietly and tiptoe back to bed and get in without causing too much of a disturbance, but Brendon would wake up and pull his arm around him and go back to sleep and it was cute and it made William's stomach twist painfully to think about. There was a slasher film on TV when he flicked it on.

William screamed before he could stop himself, then slapped both hands over his mouth as a commercial for skin cream full of too skinny alabaster women in their underwear splashing water on their faces in an over-exaggerated and highly useless manner. He only watched them for a second, then flicked the TV off again. He knew someone would be down to see him soon, probably Gabe or Frank- no, that was Gabe he could see him now, probably coming to yell at him to turn the TV off.

William couldn't be in here anymore, he felt like his head was going to explode if he didn't get out of here- or implode and make a black hole and take him and everyone else in the world with it.

When he closed his eyes again to try to steady himself all he saw was Mikey, and there was most definitely something wrong with him.

Someone was shaking William now but he felt stuck. He felt like he wasn't even in his body, though he could feel it moving a million miles or years away. He felt like he was there with Mikey- really there, in the same room. That had never happened before, William wasn't quite sure what to do about it, how to act. Mikey looked up at him, his eyes were hazy with pain, maybe drugs. William stepped forward- he could.

He could step forward, he could control this dream body more or less. He'd never been in this situation before, the visions were always like silent films playing in on the edges of his consciousness. Sometimes he never even saw pictures, he just knew, like the universe had just bestowed the knowledge upon him. But nothing like this, never anything like this.

Mikey's eyes widened when he saw William, and he was struggling all of a sudden, his bare feet scrambling in vain across the floor as he tried to move. William tried to talk but he couldn't, he needed to ask Mikey what was wrong and what happened before. Mikey looked deathly pale- well he always did, more so now. He looked sicker than William had ever seen him in a vision, even worse with blood smeared across his bare chest and his face, crusted in his hair. It was obviously not his own, he didn't have a scratch on him.

William had never felt sorry for Mikey, but he did now, because whatever was happening was obviously hurting him something terrible. William had also never been afraid of Mikey, it was kind of impossible to. But he was now. He couldn't speak, and he couldn't hear. Mikey was saying things, he looked panicked, but William couldn't hear what he was saying. It was like someone hit mute, the reverse of his other vision. The picture was crystal clear, the sound was gone.

"It'll be okay," William tried to tell him, but Mikey shut his eyes tight and turned his head away.

William's face felt wet, the front and the sides. Blood, more blood. From his nose and his ears and his ears, why? And then he could hear everything, someone clapping, his own ragged breathing and Mikey apologizing and apologizing, he didn't want this, no. Everything went to black, god, he was shaking so hard, he needed to stop existing for a while. Or forever maybe.

William remembered to breathe, opened his eyes to take in his surroundings- Gabe was there, Gabe would make everything okay, he always did. Gabe looked worried. Good. William needed someone to be worried, he was too busy being terrified.

He pressed his face against Gabe's chest and stopped caring about everything.

 

\----

 

Frank slipped his hood up over his head before leaving the house, jamming his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. Nobody would see, or anything, he'd be fine. He just had to make sure Mikey was now. Everyone was too busy fussing over William, had been doing all day and most of the night now, in case he had a nightmare. Poor baby. Apparently he wasn't doing so well, but that was none of Frank's business.

Nothing William did was Frank's business, they weren't on speaking terms. Though, Frank and most of the household were not on speaking terms. He'd been worried all day too, but who cared about that? Answer A, _nobody_.

Gabe had been stuck to William's side like a burr all day, fussing and fretting and nagging like some sort of possessed mother hen, and Frank could just see the way it was slowly getting under William's skin in the worst way possible.

Good.

Brendon and Spencer had been out all day doing cute domestic things probably, leaving Frank in Gabe's care. Gabe was otherwise preoccupied, so Frank was alone with his own thoughts. Well, his thoughts and Martha, who'd shown up yesterday, perched herself on the edge of his dresser and started talking about her husband who'd gone off in the war, and that he was going to come back and buy her a ring and they were going to get married because she loved him so much. She was a pretty lady too, much nicer than the gruff flannel clad man who'd been bugging Frank for a couple of days.

He'd been caught in a bear trap and got his leg severed and bled to death as he tried to make his way back. Ghosts never really moved that far from where they died, but the grumpy man was from far away so he was extra annoying in complaining constantly about missing home.

Martha was polite though, and sweet and dressed all in furs. She'd been well off, her and her husband, and she still loved him very much. She also had half her face blown off, raw red chunks of flesh where the right side should be. When she talked Frank could see her tongue moving through the side of her face, which was really cool in an insanely creepy way. But she was nice, and pulled down her wide brimmed hat so he wouldn't get distracted by it.

Martha wasn't following him now. He'd asked her not to. He didn't need her telling anyone where he was going, even if she'd promised not to. You could never trust ghosts, not even the nice ones. Hell, Frank wished sometimes he couldn't even see them, people would stop thinking he was crazy or that he'd lost control of his powers or something. It wasn't that at all, it was just one really nasty poltergeist named Adam that liked to make him mad.

Adam had been a terrible man in his life, and even worse in his death. Frank wasn't crazy, he just wasn't good with his anger. Adam was gone now. He was okay again. And of course Frank saw other ghosts on his journey, but they hardly even looked up. Ghosts always looked funny, little like actual forms in the world around them and more like little cutouts of silent films pasted onto a modern day background. They were black and white, and occasionally shades of red when it fit, distorting anything they came into contact with. The ground, the trees, the air around them, all black and white, a window into what it was like in the past when they'd died.

Ghosts weren't bound by time, they never would be, and could move through it freely. They could go back and change things sometimes, as long as you promised never to tell what you asked them to do. One of those dumb little rules. Frank forced all of those thoughts from his head now. He had a mission. It was dark, but that was okay.

The fresh air was lovely. The air in the facility Frank was usually stuck in was stale, and the ghosts were angry and always trying to make him hurt the way they'd been hurting before they died. There was a new one every few days, and it drove Frank up the wall when they came in and moaned and complained about how unfair it all was.

Anyone who thought life was unfair had never been a Wentz. Or a starving child in a third world country.

Nobody bothered Frank, but sometimes the living gave him weird looks for mumbling a hello to a ghost who looked friendly enough, or a sorry to one he bumped into. Being outside was better, you got a real range of ghosts instead of just angry cellmates.

Frank had to stop when a boy with a black hoodie and a dark spot right over his chest. Wasn't him. Thank god. Now he just had to wait. The night was eerily quiet, hardly any cars on the roads, hardly any people on the streets. Possibly because it was four in the morning and Frank had to climb out of his window to get out due to the ghost on patrol in front of his door. Most smart people had developed a smart approach to not being killed now that the city didn't have superheroes- stay in past dark.

Dangerous creatures still lurked in the dark, there was just nobody to take care of them anymore except the vigilantes and wild cards with shot guns who ended up in jail. Whatever. It was not Frank's job anymore. Not his responsibility.

He finally showed up about half an hour before the sun was set to rise while Frank was almost asleep on the bench with his hood down over his eyes. And he looked terrible. It took Frank a second to even recognize him, but he was smiling despite himself as soon as he did.

"Mikey?"

"I don't have time to talk, what do you want." He was looking around anxiously, tugging at his hat as he did. Something was wrong, something was most definitely wrong. He was pale and scared looking behind his sunglasses, and it wasn't cold enough for the scarf he'd pulled over his face or the big heavy coat he had on. "You shouldn't even be here."

"Well, neither should you, to be fair," Frank said simply, which gave Mikey pause for only a moment. He took off his sunglasses after one more decisive look around, leaning in close so he could lower his voice. Something was off with his eyes, Frank couldn't figure it out though.

"What do you want," Mikey repeated, more forcefully this time.

"Run away with me." It took a second for Mikey to be sure the request was made in all seriousness. Then he burst out laughing.

"You've had a lot of shitty ideas in your time, but I think this one takes the cake, Frankie," Mikey grumbled, looking away. Frank was on his feet, his anger flaring up. If he started yelling now though, Mikey would run. He had to keep calm.

"Why the fuck not?"

"We're not children anymore," Mikey snapped. Usually that shut Frank up. Not now, he was desperate.

"All the more reason!"

"Frank, no."

"What did they do to you? What did they do to you there, what did William see?" Silence followed. Frank groaned, pacing short, quick steps in front of Mikey and pushing his hands through his hair. Martha said that was what she used to do when she was stressed, but it wasn't making him feel much better. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Mikey wouldn't even look at him now. "I'm dying anyways."

"You didn't tell me." Frank's voice wavered a bit, shit. He cleared his throat and whirled, kicking the bench hard as Mikey waved his hands in an attempt to calm him down, or something, god. Who even knew anymore.

"I'm sick, Frankie. I'm really, really sick. He said he could help me- he said I was special and that he could help me..." Mikey jumped when Frank spun around and swore loudly at something he couldn't see. Yeah, this was why he was locked up. Mikey hadn't seen him in months because he was probably crazy and he wanted to run away? Not likely.

"And did he?" No response.

"The fuck, Mikey, did he? Who is he?"

"I don't know!" There was no way Mikey could've explained what he was feeling to anyone asked, it was like being powerful as a god- but feeling as small and insignificant as a mouse. He hadn't tried it of his own will yet- he was afraid to. He couldn't tell Frank what happened, he'd scare him, he couldn't do that. He'd be alone.

Dammit, the shaking had started. He needed to go.

"And you trusted him?"

"Well it's not like you were around now, was it? You got yourself locked up for killing someone, and everyone else hates me and I had nothing else to do. I don't want to die, Frank! I don't want to die..." They stood in the silence. It seemed like forever before Frank had his breathing under control and threw his arms around Mikey. He felt short, last time they'd had less of a height difference. Still significant, but less.

"Come home, please? I miss you."

"Nobody else does though, right?" No answer. Mikey pushed Frank away none too gently and spun on his heel, stalking away.

Frank called after him until his throat was hoarse. Mikey didn't so much as look back.

 

\---

 

Brendon hated being in this uniform again. The last time he'd worn one of these stupid things was the Incident. He didn't even like the colour red. Well sort of. Not enough to put it on a super suit. Everything was unnecessarily tight, though admittedly comfortable to move in. And okay, he didn't mind his black boots, he'd missed them. But not the body suit, and not the mask. Everyone in the entire world already knew their identities, what difference did it make?

Brendon had always hated these masks and now it was even bigger, across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. It obscured his vision but he couldn't do anything about it. When they were fighting, they had to keep hidden. Even as adults.

"On your left," William called out from the stands. He had a bewildered looking child in his arms, and seemed kind of bewildered himself. Fighting crime with a hangover wasn't ideal, surely.

It was his own fucking fault, he could deal with his emotions like the rest of them, or he could suffer, Brendon thought, and he was mad, but they were indoors so his powers were virtually useless. He had to get the tiger outside so he could fight it on even footing. Sometimes he was too proud to use his gun.

A circus, of all places. They'd never been to the circus, or anything remotely similar to the circus. Well, except for Mikey who'd snuck out once to go see it with Gerard once, but he'd gotten is such trouble that it kind of just killed all the joy of going to see it anyways. Or so he'd said. But who in their right mind would attack a circus of all places?

And they had to band together for this, they had to promise to work together until the day was saved, just like they were kids again. The Academy reformed, but twice as fucked up this time around, and Ryan was missing.

The lights were flickering, and making everything a lot more eerie than it needed to be. It wasn't their fault that the circus decided it would be a good idea to keep mutant animals in their performances.

Technically it wasn't the circus' fault either, it was the Ringmaster, a particularly bad man with a particularly bad mustache and a fashion sense only Ryan had ever been able to appreciate, and it brought back a lot of bad memories that Spencer was trying very hard to repress for the sake of fighting. It was hard, though. It was really hard. Brendon could see him struggling every time he looked over. If there was one thing the Ringmaster knew how to deal in, it was childhood trauma and crippling self-hatred.

Brendon looked away from William as he hopped into the ring. The tiger caught sight of him almost immediately, baring its giant white sabre fangs. As if a normal tiger wasn't scary enough, one with fucking sabre fangs and four yellow eyes and six legs? Brendon was nothing right now. He had no powers and no hope in here, he was useless. He kept its attention on him though, trying to think of anything he knew about tigers. They attacked from behind- well, normal ones did. Maybe this one didn't.

Anything he knew about normal tigers might be applicable here, but probably not. Frank did what Frank did, and the tiger looked away from Brendon at the spectres he was no doubt seeing now, but Brendon lost his focus for about thirty seconds and it charged him, sweeping him off his feet and pinning him to the dirt under them. Its claws dug into Brendon's shoulders and his fear spiked with the pain- a sudden torrent of rain started hammering down on the big top, but it could do nothing in here.

William didn't look overly worried though, so Brendon kept his cool. Spencer saved the day, pressing both hands against the cat's side until it growled and ran off, back towards one of Frank's ghosts. There was singe marks on its fur, big black marks edged with red where Spencer had burned right on through to the skin.

Spencer almost helped Brendon up to his feet, but stopped himself and ran after the tiger as Gabe and William made their way outside to take care of some of the other animals that had escaped the tent and were terrorizing the general population. The tiger was dispatched quickly when Brendon noticed the tiny hole in the top of the tent, and focused the dark storm clouds swirling outside right above the top.

Spencer wrestled with the tiger, it was really dangerous and they couldn't tell what William knew so it was also potentially fatal, but he lured the tiger and all its burn marks to the very centre, then called the lightning he was waiting for.

The tiger fried. It smelled absolutely terrible, and Brendon almost gagged, but it was out of the way now and that's all that mattered. With the cat dispatched, Brendon grabbed Spencer's arm and ran outside.

There was fire, and there was a lot of it. Brendon hadn't been controlling the storm earlier, and now he was paying the price, lightning must have hit a tree or something flammable. Gabe was yelling at the crowd, making sure they stayed away. He had this weird way of controlling people with his power, his eyes would light up- no, literally, light up. Like the snake in the Jungle Book, he'd sway his head from side to side and use his most pleasant voice.

It usually worked better, he wasn't keeping his cool now. But it was effective enough. Frank was in about the same place now, with a little bit more ferocity, setting his ghosts on the stragglers. Just to scare them, no more. It was effective, nobody had any particular interest in being anywhere near a woman with half her face blown off.

Brendon had to stop to catch his breath quickly, but Spencer threw himself right back into the mix at a particularly scary white show pony with razor sharp teeth charging at a little girl with its head down.

William was still holding the little girl he'd saved and she was crying and squirming in his arms, yelling about wanting to go home, where was her mommy. William looked like he wanted to cry as well. He wasn't going to though. He looked weird back in his costume, having assumed the leadership role Brendon had always seen on him. It was nice, if he'd lose the expression and gain some confidence, it would be just like old times!

Brendon had already ruined his outfit, maybe he'd never have to wear it ever again.

Brendon refocused on keeping his rainstorm over the fire, letting the ragged downpour loose over the burning trees. There wasn't a whole lot left to do out here, some killer ponies with shark teeth, a demon lion and a rogue elephant that Frank was currently perched atop, grabbing hold of its enormous ears as it charged the circus tent that was miraculously not in flames and called on any malicious ghost in the entire area he could reach.

None seemed all too willing to cooperate, which meant he owed them all favours after the fact, great. Spencer was set on taking care of one of the killer ponies, so Brendon decided to help Frank with the elephant. It was huge, Brendon had never seen an elephant up close but he'd watched enough documentaries with Spencer to know that they should not have four tusks and sharp teeth and a long trunk that forked off into two separate ones.

Brendon also felt dumb for letting himself get out of shape, but it did feel good to be running again, frankly, and helping out. Like he had a genuine purpose for once. It felt good, despite the circumstances. Frank got off the elephant before the entire tent collapsed on top of it, slowly then all at once with a soft, pleasant sound in a huge red and gold pile.

Brendon struck the spot with lightning to make sure, and Frank shot it twice just to make sure. They were superheroes, but everyone needed firearms every once in a while just to help them out when they were fighting crime.

They'd started carrying them after the sewer alligator incident. It hadn't been pretty.

Nobody felt inclined to watch Spencer melt the flesh of a pony, so they went after the remaining adversaries as William yelled what was going to happen and why they should get out of the fucking way.

Gabe had successfully gotten rid of the crowd, but one person remained, hunched over in a black hoodie. Gabe couldn't move them, he couldn't even get to them, but fine. If they wanted to be like that, Gabe didn't have the time and William could take care of it. There was always at least one person who valued watching the Academy fight more than their life.

It was always pegged on William when they got crushed or eaten or spontaneously combusted. But whatever. William made his way over quickly, wincing as the pony fell to the ground with a sickening thud, and set the girl down, grabbing her hand instead.

"I hardly think now's the time for a joyful family reunion, and if you're looking for Frank he's in the middle of-" With a massive crash an elephant that was somehow overlooked by William came barging out of the mass of burning trees, trumpeting and swinging its trunk around.

Chunks of burning branch and bark came raining down on them, the girl screamed and William shoved the two civilians on the ground, putting himself between him and the rain of debris as it descended on them. A gale force wind sent most of it crashing right back into the elephant, scaring it so badly it went running back into the trees, pursued by Brendon who was followed by some impressive torrential downpour.

Mikey coughed, nudging William off of him. He was anxious to get up and go, he could help fight now, even if the battle was at its end. He could show his siblings what he'd always been capable of!

"I can help now, I can-"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Gabe rushed over, pulling William up to his feet. William had been struck with a rather large bit of branch, right over his back. The burns were bad, the skin all black and red and angry as Gabe seemed to be.

"What the fuck, you could have gotten him killed."

Mikey's smile faded a bit. He started fiddling with the hem of his sweater sleeve, the nervous habit he'd never shaken. "I can help now though-"

"Get out of here!" Gabe gave a hard shove that sent Mikey stumbling back. Spencer had taken out the last pony, he was confused as to what was going on over there, craning his neck to see. He saw Mikey though, and immediately ran off to find Brendon, you know, just in case he needed help or something.

"Gabriel I'm not useless anymore I'm-"

"No! Fuck off, Mikey, you don't get to show up after all this like nothing happened." Mikey looked helplessly behind them at Frank, who was distracted by the blood on his hands and trying to get it off, and then by a stray ghost reaffirming that Frank owed them big-time. Gabe stepped to the side to block his view, looking livid.

"You need to leave."

William was tugging weakly at his sleeve, but he'd seen how this ended and he couldn't do anything to stop it now. He wasn't even in the mood to do so. Mikey looked like he wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure how to word it. He kept trying to look around Gabe, at Frank, but Gabe and William were in the way, as they always had been. He was getting mad.

"It's time to go, Bill," was all Gabe said, and Mikey couldn't help it. He punched him, he punched Gabe hard as he could. William rushed to help him and Mikey started storming away before Frank could even notice he'd been there at all. Gabe was left with a horrible bruise on his jaw, a distraught Frank and a nosebleed that had nothing to do with the punch at all.

William understood.

 

\---

 

The stage was as cold and unforgiving as it was the first time Mikey had been there, but he'd been sore and tired then.

Now he was awake, and he was livid.

He didn't want any cryptic bullshit from the conductor, he just wanted to not feel useless, and if his family couldn't give him that someone else would have to. He'd quit his band for this, he'd given that up and he'd felt good about it, but not now.

Not anymore.

Mikey went up to that dumb masked man and grabbed him by the front of his expensive felt jacket, nearly pulling him up off the ground.

"You better teach me how to use my fucking talent, because I'm just as useless as ever."

"In due time, Michael," the masked man said, unaware of how much time he was expected to have. It wasn't much.

Mikey's expression didn't change as he moved his hands to the masked man's throat and pinned him to the wall. It didn't change when blood started coming out of the man's ears, dripping red rivers over Mikey's pale knuckles from under the mask. It didn't change when the man's skin ripped open from all over, blood splashing everywhere. Mikey stepped back from him, spitting out the red that had gotten into his mouth.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand and left. He had his power now, he'd accessed it through the music, and now it was his. He didn't need to know how to control it, he'd let it destroy him if he needed.

Mikey didn't have long anyways.

 

\---

 

"Can I get you something, sweetie?" The waitress was pretty. Young, too much makeup, sharp winged eyeliner and red, red lipstick. She had a gap in her teeth, in the front two, but it was endearing rather than annoying. Ryan looked around before pointing at himself and raising an eyebrow, and she laughed, loud and obnoxious but still kind of cute.

"You can see me?" He asked, and the girl nodded, holding up her notepad and shaking it enticingly.

"If you're trying to be invisible, you're failing," she giggled.

Ryan almost laughed. Almost. He just ran his hands through his too-long hair, looking back at his reflection in the big grimy glass front across from him, turning back to see his distorted face in the back of a napkin holder. Shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, deep frown. Yes, he was totally visible. He fixed his big coat around him and nodded. "Just a coffee, please."

She got to work on that immediately as Ryan looked around anxiously. He'd gotten just a liiittle bit better at controlling his power since the aftermath of the Incident. Well, obviously, it had been at least six years by now.

Ryan's communicating skills could use some work still, though, he'd forgotten what it was to talk to people. He missed people, but there was nothing to be done about it. People got scared if something started talking to them that they couldn't see. Even if he assured them he was not a ghost, he was a just a Wentz, they thought he was the ghost of Ryan Wentz, because Ryan Wentz had been presumed dead since the Incident with a capital 'I'.

Since a building had collapsed on him. And he'd practically died in the basement that was still mostly intact, his legs pinned under a lot of concrete and re bar. After William neglected to inform anyone that the building was going to fall, it was kind of a shock.

Ryan got stuck in invisible mode from there on out though, and only one of his legs actually worked, the other he had to drag around. It was really, really annoying, but he was just happy to be able to walk still. He'd noticed the waitress staring when he walked in, but he'd just assumed there was like, a hobo behind him or something. The hobo was him, apparently.

"What's your deal then," The waitress said, setting his coffee in front of him, and Ryan laughed. A green chipped mug and a sense of normalcy. Amazing.

"I'm a Wentz," Ryan said simply, and watched surprise take over her face. He did kind of look gruff, the rest of his family took good care in being clean, at least. The rest of them were well off, or most at least. Gabe was famous, Brendon was still on the T.V, both were happy enough. Spencer Ryan had seen only a few times in his travels, once with a cute guy laughing on his arm and once wandering down the sidewalk looking dazed and scruffy and angry. Ryan missed Spencer so much.

"You're a Wentz? Which one?"

"The dead one." Now that he could see it, the scruff on Ryan's face was bothering him as much as the dark circles under his eyes. Even William was looking better, and he'd been looking more like a junkie than ever lately.

Okay, maybe Ryan had come by meaning to come to the funeral, but he didn't talk to anyone. He felt like it would just make everything worse than ever if he revealed the fact that he was, in fact, still breathing. It was hard not hugging Spencer, and Ryan was lonely and sick of being by himself. He missed people, and being around people you loved but couldn't talk to only made it worse. So he did the smart thing and he left immediately.

And now, Ryan found himself here, in the company of a waitress her name tag proclaimed was named Bess who seemed to have a thing for boys who looked like hobos, if the looks she was giving him were anything to go by. Or maybe she just had a thing for Wentzes. A lot of people seemed to. She's probably swoon if Gabe or Brendon walked in. The news was on and Ryan looked past Bess at the shot of....

A lot of red. A new serial killer, just what they needed. He's like nothing I've ever seen, a witness loudly announced with tears in her eyes. The last thing we need now is another villain, the Academy just came back and-

Ryan dug through his pocket and took out whatever bills and coins were in there without checking. He put them on the counter and hopped off his stool and walked away, because he had to go home.

Something terrible was probably going to happen, he didn't need William Wentz to tell him that.

 

\---

 

Tomorrow. It was going down tomorrow, one hundred percent. And they had no time to prepare whatsoever, because William had only figured it out at midnight.

William was also out of alcohol, out of sleeping pills, and out of luck, which left him upset and frightened with one last option. Gabe was fast asleep when William came in, and William almost felt bad about disturbing it. Gabe looked really peaceful while he slept, his face serene and his bruises faded.

William almost felt bad about the chance that he'd wake up, but he figured if he'd ruined his back probably forever for his dumb little brother yesterday, he could be a little bit selfish for once.

Gabe's room was nice and quiet, unlike William's, which was too close to Brendon and Spencer's. The two of them talked through most of the night, and it was one of the most irritating things ever to try and sleep through, especially if you had trouble sleeping yourself.

Gabe's room wasn't like that, just the summer wind blowing through the open window and billowing the white curtains out like ghosts. There was a nice view of the clean green lawn out there that William took in quickly, looking away sheepishly when the statue of Ryan caught his eye.

William always felt guilty being reminded of what was most definitely his most significant failure ever, and he'd had a lot of those over the years he'd been leading his miserable band of followers. He maybe even missed Ryan a bit when he thought about it. He knew Spencer most certainly did, and Brendon too even if he refused to admit it. William pulled his shirt off and got under the covers, sliding right up next to Gabe, who barely stirred.

That was okay, even having him closer was good enough. William pressed up against him, put an arm around him and fell asleep against Gabe's back. Just like old times.

It was the best sleep he'd had in a long time, and it was amazing.

 

\---

 

Frank woke up in a cold sweat, kicked off his covers and got out of bed quickly. His shirt and boxers were sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his messy hair plastered to his face, falling into his wild eyes. It took him a second to figure out what had happened, his first guess was that Martha had kissed him. She'd only done that once when he looked upset and she felt like she needed to make him feel better, and it made him cold all over and stressed for the rest of the day.

But no, it was the nightmares again, Martha had not moved from her perch in the chair in the far corner of the room all night. She was reading a book quietly, and hardly looked up at him.

Frank rose unsteadily to his feet, stumbling over to the door and fumbling to get his phone out of the pocket of the coat hanging there. He couldn't do it, there was no way to get a proper night's rest or any peace of mind in this infernal house. Not with William yelling cryptic things as they straggled their way home after fighting mutant circus animals, at least.

Fucking _William_.

The nightmares had found him again, worse than anything Martha could soothe with her mundane stories that always left Frank feeling at least a little bit more grounded. Martha had had such a normal life, and she talked of such normal things. Frank couldn't help but feel just a little bit jealous of her most of the time.

She was so easily enviable, and she laughed after he'd told her about one of his misadventures, as if she couldn't possibly understand why he might even consider being normal. But not now, Martha had gotten up to avoid a confrontation, passing through the wall to the bathroom next door, and if Frank started throwing things someone might come down and yell, and he'd have to explain why he was upset before William woke up and told them all.

No thank you.

So Frank got out his phone, switched it on and started dialing with shaky fingers, slowly lowering himself back down on the bed. It rang twice, and there was no response when the other line picked up. Frank swallowed hard, hugging himself with his free arm and hunching over. He swallowed hard, and even then it took a second before he could actually talk. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry." Mikey's voice was barely even a whisper, rough and scratchy. He had to cough a few times before he talked again. He sounded sick, it made Frank's stomach twist painfully. Usually Mikey hid it so well, now he sounded fragile and weak.

"I didn't know what else to do," Frank said, and his voice cracked and Mikey flopped back in bed, laying the back of his hand across his forehead. His fever had gotten worse, he definitely needed to get this over with soon. Do it fast, rip it off like a band aid. That was how he'd do it. "You wouldn't want to hear Gabe and William's four A.M end-is-nigh sex either, I bet."

"Nobody does," Mikey replied, trying not to smile. He was kind of glad to have someone to talk to, even if it was only for a few minutes. He couldn't stay on the phone with Frank, he had to do what he had to do, a upset as he was to admit it. They could help him, the followers of the masked man. They'd promised they could help him if he helped them.

He had to do it- maybe he could keep Frank out of harm's way. He could, yes, Frank wasn't dangerous. He could just see things other people couldn't see, no big deal! Yeah, that helped settle his mind a little. He hadn't even noticed Frank was still talking over the line, the white noise of it was soothing and Mikey felt a lot more peaceful. "Things are going to be awkward in the morning."

"For them at least." Mikey's smile fell off his face in the silence that followed. He chose his next words carefully, licking his lips and looking over at the angry red numbers on his clock blinking 4:23. "Maybe you should get out."

"...Why? Oh- no, Mikey, no. Don't fucking-"

"They can help me, Frank." Mikey's grip on his phone was tightening, while Frank almost dropped his. Fear had turned Frank's blood into ice water, he thought. Well, they'd been over this. That maybe he would leave, and him and Mikey could go find someone who could help, who could actually help them without them having to do anything particularly drastic for it. This? This was drastic. This was beyond drastic.

"Mikey, I know they weren't-"

"You think I'm doing this because I hate my family? I kind of do, but that includes you, Frank, and I'm warning you now. Get out of there."

"Please don't do this..." Frank waved Martha angrily away when she had the audacity to look one part curious, four parts worried, and she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the room and closing the door on the way out.

"Mikey? Mikey!" Silence at the end of the line, Mikey had been dumb to think he could fix things. "Goodnight, Frank."

"Don't-" _Click_. Frank took his phone away from his ear, staring at it for a good ten minutes before tossing it at the wall.

This was happening. This was really happening. And he'd have to leave and hope for the best, or pick a side and tough it out.

God fucking damn it.

 

\---

 

"Today's the day," William said simply, grabbing his lighter off the side table before Gabe could protest and lighting the cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. Gabe rolled his eyes and shifted to his other side, taking most of the sheets with him. William fumbled to grab the corner before he was left exposed and Gabe smiled a bit, closing his eyes again.

"I don't wanna fight today," he replied, and William gave him a William look that made even the smartest, most arrogant men feel dumb. It was a secret power of his. Gabe didn't see it, though, and was genuinely unaffected.

"Don't have much of a choice, do we?" Gabe made a face and sighed when the smell of smoke filled the room, but William was uncaring. He watched the smoke rise, and felt more level headed than he had in a while, mostly because he'd given up trying to fight against his dumb emotions and all his fears for the future and had just given in.

He'd given in, and now he had Gabe and it felt like all of his panic had been buried somewhere he couldn't find it, just for now. Just for this moment right here. He knew Frank had talked to Mikey yesterday, he knew how that had gone down and he knew that Mikey would be back tonight, and he wouldn't be himself when he got here.

Tonight was the final stand, so to speak, then William could go back to being blissfully ignorant of the affairs of his family.

Or, he could be with Gabe again. But it would be miserable if he did, it would be miserable if they were together outside these four walls. It was why they'd pretty much split in the first place, it was why Brendon and Spencer had to pull a Brokeback Mountain every so often just to visit each other and stay away for a couple of weeks while they did what they couldn't do at any other point.

The world knew they all weren't biologically related, but to them they might as well have been, so William just enjoyed the moment, the muted sun streaming through the window and Gabe warm and reassuring beside him, swaddled in the white sheets.

He felt guilty being so happy when Frank was suffering so, but only for a minute. He was allowed to be selfish. William took a drag on his cigarette, wondering why he'd lit it in the first place briefly. He didn't really need it.

He needed them when he was panicking or worrying or stressing over something he'd seen, but his mind had been clear of bad thoughts since he'd seen Mikey dressed all in black trampling most of William's plants on his way to get here. A cigarette wasn't needed. It was force of habit now, great, it would be impossible to quit after this.

"What happens if someone dies tonight?" William asked, and Gabe rolled back over, propping his head up on a hand and raising an eyebrow. "

You really wanna talk about this now?"

William shrugged, looking back out the window. He kind of regretted bringing it up now. The head of Ryan's statue could be seen, bright white in the sun. Poor Ryan. "It's going to rain later," he muttered, and Gabe rolled his eyes.

"I thought we were talking about people dying."

"Well if you want," William grumbled. He snuffed his cigarette out in the bottom of an empty glass on the side table, getting back under the covers and facing Gabe. "Since you offered."

"I do not want to talk about people dying."

"But I feel like we should. In case it happens."

"I do not plan on dying, Bill, I plan on annoying you for the rest of my natural life because nobody's going to do it for me if I'm gone."

William smiled a bit, leaning forward to give Gabe a kiss quickly. "I dunno, Frank can be pretty fucking irritating."

"Well so can Brendon."

"Not Spencer though."

"No, not Spencer," Gabe had to agree, and they both laughed a little. "Never Spencer."

They stayed quiet for a moment before William saw that Brendon was waking up now, and despite the abnormal amount of marks on his neck, they weren't sure they wanted anyone else to know. Well, not ye anyways, they had to focus tonight so that nobody died. It was sort of important. "No dying, okay? I'd miss you too much," Gabe said quietly, and William sighed.

"I know," he said.

 

\---

 

It was raining again, and Mikey hated the rain. Brendon used to make rain happen, he'd give Mikey his own little personal raincloud like in cartoons, and it would follow him around all day and soak him until he was shivering and miserable. And it would stay until Patrick found out and Brendon got in trouble.

Mikey hated getting his hair wet, he hated getting his clothes wet. But mostly, he hated where he was going. He was going to hate it when he got there. Already he was feeling the weight of memories just below the surface.

He felt a pang when he saw he white marble statue of Ryan just behind the gate, despite himself.

Nobody was at the gate, the weather was too horrible. Mikey remembered looking out his window every night to see reporters crowded around, each of them trying to get a piece of the Academy. No doubt they were back here nowadays in bigger numbers. They were outsiders, they weren't like the Wentzes at all. They were normal, that made them different from them.

Mikey remembered Gabe getting yelled at in the hall for talking to them, he was always at the gate if he wasn't at William's side. But fuck him, fuck all of them. Frank had called about six times last night after Mikey had initially picked up, which he knew he wasn't supposed to do.

Frank was NOT supposed to call Mikey, even if it was an emergency. The exception had been made and would not be made again. Mikey had made that very clear, but Frank seemed to insist on it. It would get Frank in trouble, probably, especially after last night. William would know about it by now. Mikey wondered briefly if he'd mentioned it to anyone yet.

He wasn't sure he cared if William knew. But hearing Frank's voice had always made Mikey feel like he could do something stupid and reckless, like believe Frank when he said what he did and become happy in his last stretch of life like he knew he wanted to, while his body attacked itself and made him miserable.

He hadn't always been like that, Frank, he used to push Mikey around and take his glasses and pull his hair too, just like everyone else but William did. William didn't have the kind of foresight that would enable him to see how any of them turned out, as much as he'd fibbed about it when they were eating lunch, telling Gabe he was going to be a garbage man and Brendon that he was going to own seven cats and be alone forever.

They always appeared to be at least somewhat normal in these situations, but it never lasted for long because Gabe would get mad and make William dump his cereal over his head, and some fight or another would inevitably break out resulting in Mikey getting sent to his room.

He never liked staying around his siblings anyways, he almost started liking it in his room, because Gerard was there, and Gerard would take care of him, even if Gerard was just an animal with human abilities, Gerard would take care of him. But Gerard wasn't around to take care of him now and he hadn't been for years. There was nobody, and Gabe had William and Spencer had Brendon, but Mikey had nobody.

The guard at the gate was taken by surprise, he probably didn't have any warning before his chest ripped open, a pretty wave of dark red spilling from the gaping hole. The remains of the man fell, and the rain persisted, unperturbed. Mikey made it up the path, trampling through most of William's dumb little garden on his way to the front door.

He tracked mud in, thinking about how upset Patrick might have been with him. Patrick was deactivated on the couch at this time, though. ...Except he wasn't. William. He knew. He knew, there was no way that he didn't. Fuck. Mikey pushed both hands through his hair before forcing himself to calm down. He could beat William. He could beat everyone, he just had to try.

He could hear everything, every heartbeat in the house thundering in his ears, he needed only to find the sound. Patrick was no threat, Patrick couldn't hurt him. Patrick couldn't bring himself to hurt him, poor little Mikey Wentz. He'd always been one of Patrick's favourites.

Mikey pulled his hood off and contemplated where to start. There were sirens off in the distance, headed here, no doubt. But Mikey had his minions too, shadows creeping along behind him, ready to capture some freaks and figure out what it was that made them tick. That's all they wanted, the bloodied corpses of his siblings? And then Mikey could get out, he could stop being scared and sick and worrying that every day was his last. He'd never felt better.

Mikey had to wait a minute, he had to pause. He told his followers to stay where they were while he found the first thing he needed. Spencer. No way would Spencer be left unattended by Brendon, not in this scenario.

Mikey picked up on the quickest heartbeat, that was definitely Spencer. He followed it, through the dark house. The drawing room was big and empty as ever, but it was loud. Someone was in there, someone's heart was going insane. But it was only them. Mikey smiled a bit.

"You're not Frankie, are you? You can some out, I don't bite." He heard a gasp, swiveled his head, movement from under the piano- Mikey threw his hand out, channeling all the anger he'd put into playing his bass the day of the audition, and he felt the pull, he felt the connection, felt that hatred running into the silhouette.

"Come here," he commanded, and the silhouette rose to its feet and marched straight towards him. Spencer's face was gaunt in the minimal light streaming from the huge windows, his eyes wide and scared, but he was keeping it together. He wasn't crying, he wasn't showing weakness. He was just scared. He looked kind of silly in his superhero suit, but Mikey wasn't about to point it out. No use in hurting his feelings now, was there.

"How are you doing, Spence? Are you the bait?" Spencer nodded. Mikey shrugged. "Fair enough, I guess. No point in lying now, is there." He dropped control and severed the connection, and Spencer cried out and doubled over, clutching his stomach like he'd been punched. "I want to show you what I can do, if you'll let me."

Spencer couldn't respond, as his mouth had ceased functioning. He could feel the warm wetness of the blood streaming from his nose and his head felt terrible, like it was going to crack open. He hissed and pressed his forehead to the cool marble floor, trying very hard not to cry. He hadn't signed up for this.

Spencer tried to focus on other things without passing out. Mikey's voice, for one, the sound of the rioting crowd outside, where Mikey's tag-along gang had run into the police and ensued a bloody battle on the lawn, which Mikey decided he needed to see, so he forced the connection back on Spencer and made him drag himself back up to his feet.

Oh, everything was in a state of agony. Spencer felt dizzy and nauseated, and there was nothing to be done. He was utterly helpless.

"Of all things I'd have control over, blood is probably the most ironic," Mikey said, and Spencer's body wasn't listening to him at all. It seemed intent on making itself as pained as possible, trudging along behind Mikey as he went parading outside to look at the chaos he'd created. He couldn't even flick the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes out of his face, what was this? Where were Brendon and Gabe? William? William would know what was happening, surely. Were they letting him suffer? Did they have a plan?

Spencer didn't even want to fight back at this point, he just wanted to give into the black that was lurking at the corner of his vision and face oblivion for a little while. Mikey looked wrong, and Spencer could sense that something was wrong. He felt sick and twisted and mad as a hatter, and it made Spencer scared. He'd never hated Mikey like some of the others did, he really didn't want to fight him while he was like this.

Outside was a battleground of gunfire and screaming. It was beautiful, in a way. A fight between forces of good and bad, something Mikey liked to see. His people were fighting to the death for a chance t be special just like him, and the police were losing. He swore he saw Andy somewhere out there in the crowd, but couldn't bring himself to look again. It would be better if he stayed impersonal with any non-family member he was killing tonight.

"I can control people now, Spence. Not even through fear like how you'd do it, y'know? And not like Gabe either- I can get into them. I can dig into their minds and make them listen. I can make them listen to me. It's nice to be listened to, right?" Spencer nodded, swallowing hard and looking off to the side.

He hoped it was Brendon he was seeing out of the corner of his eye, lurking around. He really, really hoped it was Brendon, Brendon wouldn't let him die, right? He looked away quickly when Mikey turned to face him, focusing on a policeman who was just stabbed in the eye with a knife that was still sticking out of the socket. It was gruesome. But he couldn't look away, because he knew he'd seen worse. He'd _caused_ worse.

"You were the most like me, you know, Spencer? Nobody ever loved you the way they loved all the other boys, you were too different. Not pretty enough." He couldn't respond. Mikey looked back out over the killing field and sighed wistfully. "Things would have been different, you know? If they'd treated us right? Things would have been a lot different. We'd be a lot happier than we are."

Spencer couldn't argue with that, but an officer got too close and Spencer had to watch Mikey practically tear him open and spill his life force all over the nice green lawn. And that's approximately when he figured out he was doomed. That was fucking scary, and he could melt people by touching them.

Brendon showed up not long after, out on the lawn amidst the chaos. William must've been off to the side somewhere if he was out in the open like that, or at least Spencer really really hoped he was. This was dangerous. The rainclouds above him swirled around and around, and the wind picked up, and Mikey snorted. He wasn't impressed, not in the least. Brendon's powers were phenomenally strong, but they were incredibly predictable. No matter. He'd put up a good fight anyways.

 

\---

 

Gabe was holding William, making sure he didn't do anything stupid. Alternatively, William was holding on to Gabe because he was scared Gabe was going to go out there and get himself killed just after William had gotten him back, even if he knew for a fact that Gabe would still be fine by the end of this fight.

They were hiding in the closet in Gabe's room, curled up together and listening to the footsteps pounding outside the closed door, unfamiliar boots treading to and fro outside. William's eyes were closed, his face pressed into Gabe's chest. He didn't want to look out. He didn't want to move, he just wanted to stay here and be safe until the threat was over.

William's job in here was to give updates so they could spring into action and help Brendon out when he needed. Outside, he'd have to lead them through every single move Mikey was going to make, and that would make this fight turn out like the one Ryan had died in because they depended on him too much.

William was just kind of terrified and wanted nothing to do with any of this, so the closet was the perfect place for him. He thought he was ready, well. Before Mikey had killed a man without even touching him. In such a gruesome way, too, wow. That rivaled Spencer's. He gave Gabe infrequent updates in a hushed voice, but he was only getting second long snippets now.

He knew for sure that Spencer was helping fight as best he could, but being a close range fighter around Mikey now didn't seem like an advantage at all. Quite the opposite, actually. Anyone who got remotely close to Mikey, on either side, got blown up in a rain of red, and it was terrifying and he was dripping in blood that wasn't his as Brendon kept him back with wind and lightning and the small fires he'd already caused that he didn't bother putting out.

Some of the masked men were dumb enough to stumble through them, going on to run and scream while still covered in flames instead of stopping, dropping and rolling. Brendon couldn't keep him back forever though, and William couldn't see Frank at all, no matter how hard he looked. It was scary and he didn't like it.

"Gabe, I need you to go find Frank," William whispered, biting his tongue when a pair of feet stopped right in front of the door. William knew the masked man wouldn't come in though, so he opened the closet door and pushed Gabe out before closing it again. "You'll be fine, I promise, there's something I'm not seeing here. I'll be out when I figure out what it is, okay?"

Gabe had to listen. He always did exactly what William said.

It was how they'd made it this far.

 

\---

 

The ending, depending on who you asked, was anti-climactic and slightly badass, a bit of a deus ex machina if you will. Brendon Wentz was trapped up in a corner quite literally, the brick wall of the house digging into his back.

His storm was totally disbanded because he'd let Mikey get too close, blood leaking out of his nose and mouth. Brendon's poor, over-strained brain could hardly think properly, never mind command a full out storm, and Spencer was laying there lifeless a few feet behind Mikey, who was advancing rapidly. There was no hope, this adversary was too much.

He didn't look like Mikey, there was no way this was Mikey. His eyes were wild, his smile savage, and Brendon wanted nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible. But his muscles weren't listening to him, they were screaming in agony and staying still. He saw no way out of this, Gabe had been overtaken by a mob of angry masked men, and was currently not even visible, who knew where Frank was, and if they located him, god knew he'd do nothing against Mikey. So Brendon said his prayers and closed his eyes.

The board came out of fucking _nowhere_ , nailing Mikey with a loud smack in the side of the head and dazing him long enough for a second whack, sending him right down, sprawled out on the grass spread eagle. He was out. He was out cold.

And Ryan-fucking-Wentz tossed the board aside, breathing hard and looking almost as crazy as Mikey had been just a few seconds ago. He looked more like a hobo than he ever had, with half a beard starting up and a jacket he was practically swimming in, dotted with Mikey's blood. His pants were ripped to shit, god, had he changed his clothes at all since he'd died?

"Holy shit, Brendon," was all he had to say for himself, and it was done. It was fucking done because of fucking Ryan who wasn't fucking dead somehow.

Brendon burst out crying.

 

\---

 

Mikey came to in a big white room, and the panic was immediate. He hated being in big white rooms, big white rooms meant that terrible things were happening to his body, like maybe he'd run out of oxygen or something, or his blood was getting worse and he was being poisoned from the inside out. His entire being felt sore- now THAT he was used to. He knew he was sick now.

Mikey hated hospitals, they usually meant he was dying, and he had to lay there alone staring at the ceiling until they'd healed him up just enough so that he could stagger through maybe another few months of bad habits and pain meds before he'd wind up there again.

Someone had brought flowers, the only source of colour in there. The empty chairs by his bed were black, the entire room was white, the mask over his mouth and nose was clear. Someone actually remembered who he was long enough to acknowledge his existence? Mikey was pleased for just a second but- wow, he must be really dying if someone took the time out of their day to bring him flowers.

He really wasn't expecting it when Frank slipped back in, taking a seat in an empty chair. "I saw him last night," was all he said, and Mikey didn't feel like he even had enough strength to respond to that, so he raised an eyebrow instead.

"Pete, I saw him last night. Before Ryan took you down." He'd been just as short as last time, but every bit as formidable and admirable in his big coat that Mikey had always been secretly jealous of. He loved the damn thing. Pete hadn't said anything, just given off a smile, which was something Frank had never imagined on his face ever. And then he folded his hands behind his back and walked away, and Frank told this all to Mikey, who pulled the mask down off his face and croaked "what an asshole."

Frank couldn't help but laugh, of course. There was always a laugh to be had at the old man's expense. Mikey couldn't stay awake long after that, but when Brendon came to pick Frank up he was clutching Mikey's hand, head leaning up against the hospital bed, fast asleep. It was cute, in a weird way, almost surreal. Like everything would be okay again someday.

 

\---

 

In the days that followed, the manor was cleaned up for better or worse. It was a joint effort by the tireless staff, and a huge pain in the ass trying to get all that blood out of the grass and curtains and off the floors and windows. And pretty much everywhere else you could think of that blood could possibly get, there was probably blood there.

The epic battle ended in a huge kerfuffle, dead policemen and sci-fi cultists everywhere, the funeral homes were packed for weeks. Gruesome details, sure. It was crazy, the Wentzes had never been more hated or more loved. That was how they stayed in the eyes of the general public, everyone's favourite villains. But they weren't the villains, they were the heroes, and everyone came around eventually to come to that conclusion.

Mikey in particular had never been more hated, and nobody turned a 360 to take his side. But that was okay, he understood his duty, the rest of his family understood theirs, and it had been fulfilled.

In the weeks that followed, Frank spent every waking moment by Mikey's side as he slowly but surely got better and better, because it wasn't like any of them had anything better to do. Even though Frank was usually put off by hospital situations because the ghosts there were so depressing all the time, he didn't mind coming back home from the hospital smelling like hand sanitizer and cleaning products.

He smuggled Mikey food in and stole kisses whenever that dumb mask wasn't over his face, and they loved every minute of it.

Brendon and Spencer had become inseparable, much to Ryan's dismay, and they seemed attached at the hip, but they were just enjoying the time they had before they'd be apart for months on end. It was understandable.

Even William knew it wasn't going to last. He didn't have that cutesy domestic relationship with Gabe though, and made up for it with snark and sarcasm over most things, but there was still something there, something they'd have to discuss at some point but would put off for as long as possible for sanity's sake.

No significant damage had been done to the house itself- well, half the house itself. A stray lightning bolt had done a number on the other half, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed, and the house would be standing empty soon anyways. The Academy would go back to doing whatever it was they needed to be doing. Like telling the news, or kicking a ball around a field, or disappearing off the face of the Earth. And maybe they'd band together again, one day, but probably not, not even William could see that in their future. It did seem like an awful ways away.

"You all packed up?" William asked as he looked out the window at Spencer struggling to carry all his bags to the car while Brendon rushed after him fussing and Ryan laughed. It was a sunny day today, the type of day that made William want to spend most of his time outside in the garden fussing around with the plants. He'd keep from doing that today, though. No point in getting into it if he was going back home. Gabe was behind him, packing all his shirts away back into his suitcase and not-so-subtly staring at William's ass as he leaned out the window.

"Almost," Gabe muttered, and William smirked because he knew. He waved goodbye to Spencer, who waved back- god, why did he insist on that stupid bandanna? He watched Spencer give Brendon a hug and a very, very long kiss before getting in the car with Ryan. And then they were gone, driving away, and Brendon was standing there looking a little bit melancholy, as he should, because now he had to go back to his mundane life without his best friend in the entire universe.

How terrible.

He'd survive, and the next time someone died or someone got married, they'd all have an excuse to come back here and stay for a week or two. Preferably longer next time, so they wouldn't have to admit to how much they missed each others company in the long pauses where nobody saw each other.

William was broken out of his trance when Gabe slammed his suitcase shut and zipped it up. He felt kind of like a tool for bringing so much now, William had a backpack with clothes that probably weren't even clean to begin with and everything smelled like smoke and he spent his remaining days in Gabe's clothes instead because he'd brought so many with him. William gave the room a once-over, his eyes stopping at the top of the dresser.

"You cannot seriously be telling me you're going to leave without your super suit, Mr. Saporta." Gabe gave William a Gabe look, which was significantly less effective than a William look as the younger beamed up at him.

"No amount of irony could make me keep that fucking thing."

"Ohhh, but you look so goood in it. Go on. Or I'll mail it to you, you know?"

"You wouldn't dare," Gabe muttered, setting his suitcase outside. He stood in the doorway, looking around the room once more. His car was already waiting outside, William was just waiting for Andy to get off his newest murder case so he could come and take him home. He didn't mind staying a little extra, it meant he could sit and play cards with Mikey and Frank without Gabe complaining about it being a waste of their precious time. And Mikey was really good at cards, he had the poker face of a champion.

"This is it then?"

"This is it." They stood awkwardly, and it was oddly reminiscent to the last time they'd stood and denied their own feelings for each other, except last time hadn't gone as smoothly and William had run out crying. They were young and stupid then. Now they were old and stupid, but they wouldn't be making the same mistakes anytime soon.

"Now, our relationship isn't exactly healthy, I know, but..."

"Not exactly? Mikey and Frank had a better chance than we did," William scoffed, and that was really saying something.

It took Gabe a second to come back to that. "And look where they are now?" Mikey was home from the hospital for the weekend, and currently curled up next to Frank on the couch watching old horror movies until they would both inevitably pass the fuck out and have really weird monster movie dreams. Gabe did have a point there, but all William would have to do was bring up all that had happened leading up to that point and it would shut him right the fuck up. But was there really a point in fighting it anymore?

Gabe's hands twitched at his sides and he licked his lips and looked around again, distractedly. "Look, are you gonna say goodbye to me or what, because my driver already thinks I'm an asshole and you're not putting me in his favour."

"Oh yeah, Saporta's gonna be late getting home in his expensive sports car, poor baby." William made a pouty face, scrunching up his nose, but he knew Gabe wouldn't be mad, and he knew Gabe was going to laugh the way he did and he knew Gabe wasn't going to be late getting home and he knew he really had fallen for him all over again. William crossed the room and headed right out, deciding to be useful and picking up a bag.

"Come on, you baby, I'll walk you out." They passed Mikey and Frank on the way out and they were, sure enough, out cold on the couch, tangled together in an endearing fashion. William felt a pang before it came to his attention that both would be stiff and sore by the time they woke up.

Then he smiled a bit, and looked behind him to make sure Gabe was still following. He thought of what to say on the way out, as he trudged through the new grass on the way to the fancy sports car that was waiting for Gabe. He could be suave, or he could be dumb, or he could be sweet, really sweet, but in the end William didn't get a chance to figure out how to express his overwhelming feelings for his brother, because Gabe was the one that pulled him in for a kiss and said "You know?"

And William smiled hugely and nodded, because he had butterflies in his stomach and all clear skies in his head and he did know, he really did know.

"I know," William said.

*

 

 

 

 

Ryan hardly got in the place to start with, and Ryan had grown to know almost everyone in his quest to be seen again. He'd ended up in the sort of place you only see in movies, a backalley bar full of shady people looking like every person around them was shadier than the rest. But he walked in with the utmost confidence and was immediately the centre of attention.

This was Ryan's favourite thing to be, since he'd become visible again. He took enormous pride in the fact that other people acknowledged him as a functioning member of society among their ranks, and it had started occurring to him that they could not tell he was a Wentz just by looking at him head on. No. He'd have to prove himself to be a Wentz. So he walked in there with the utmost confidence, thumbs stuck in the pockets of his waistcoat.

He looked ridiculous, like a circus ringmaster reject with a big golden top hat and a black and gold felt jacket with coattails and all. his striped pants pulled halfway up to his chest, but he was happy to be flashy, because he could now, his clothes didn't become invisible just because he was.

The confidence he radiated was intimidating- that was one thing Gabe had taught them, how to be intimidating without being scary.

Ryan Ross- Ross was a nice name, sure, he'd picked it up somewhere when he decided being a Wentz wasn't worthwhile anymore- was not a scary man. He was tall, but lanky, and didn't look like he could hold his own in a fight with anyone. But now he had a scowl on his face and a mission.

The air was mostly smoke in here, and smelled as such mixed in with stale cigarettes and an undertone of vomit. He made his way to the bar and sat himself down, the rugged barman gave him a look but didn't question anything.

People like Ryan didn't come here for drinks, people like Ryan always had ulterior motives. He nodded towards the back room and Ryan nodded back in acknowledgement, making his way over. It was dark in the room, there was a table there, and a group of strange people dressed all in white playing cards.

Their leader, at the head, was the only one who looked up when Ryan walked in, lowering her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at him. The rest of the game went quiet.

"You need something?" She asked, and the three other men turned to look at Ryan. No, he would not let himself be intimidated. The woman looked the most dangerous, despite everything, like a crocodile or a shark ready to strike. She repeated her question, louder and with more of an edge, which is when Ryan realized the extent to which his tongue was tied in her presence.

"Victoria?" He asked, and she raised an eyebrow, propping her elbows up on the table and leaning forward.

"Vicky-T, kid. What do you need."

"Ryan Ross. I need-"

"Let me guess, you're a nobody who needs to kill a somebody?" The man to her left sneered, the littlest one with a temper as short as he was. Vicky waved her hand to silence him, and Ryan narrowed his eyes.

"I'm a Wentz, actually, the one that was presumed dead for years before coming out of thin air and saving the day. And yes, I do need a somebody dead."

"Are we supposed to be impressed," Vicky asked, and Ryan was slightly taken aback. Not that he made most of these calls often, but he'd just been certain that his name alone was enough to go by. Obviously not here, Vicky just smirked at him, pulling her fur shawl higher over her shoulders again. "Kid, you don't know who you're dealing with, do you." "You should let him tell us who he wants gone first," the man on her right said, and the other three nodded in a agreement. Vicky considered it for a moment, then nodded as well. "Very well, Mr. Wentz. Who is it you need wiped off the face of the Earth?" "My brother," Ryan said, but none of them looked very impressed. Yet another let down. "Which one, you've got at least like, eight of them," Vicky said, and Ryan sighed.

"The one nobody likes, Michael Wentz. He's back. I don't like it."

"Cold," Vicky said, and the rest of them laughed, but they didn't have to sit back at home knowing that that crazy lunatic with his blood controlling powers was staying in the house they'd grown up in. With Frank. It was disgusting, how Frank could look over the attempted murder of his family because of Mikey's adorable brown eyes and cute little rare smile. It was sick, and Ryan wanted no part of it. He hated Mikey, and he'd have him gone.

"I'm a Wentz," Ryan repeated firmly, "So it's not like I don't have the money."

"Sometimes the money's not the issue," one of the men said, getting to his feet. "The morals are important too."

"He took my place," Ryan argued, but Vicky held up a hand to silence them both. "I'll hear you out, kid, You seem to know what you want, fucked up as it is." Vicky folded her hands on the table, smiling sweetly, and a smile crept its way onto Ryan's face as well.

"Excellent," Ryan said, going over and taking the free seat. "Let's get started."


End file.
